Time, and other boobytraps
by PolemicAcademic
Summary: An incident at a crime scene forces Mac to explore what he couldn't bring himself to see, and the team are left to pick up the pieces as another friend ends up in danger. This is my first attempt at crime fiction, rated for reading age.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

She cradled him, desperate, nestling his lolling head in the crook of a trembling arm. She whispered into his ear, pressing him to keep his eyes focused on her own. From the feel of things, the sticky pool of crimson that had been soaking through her jeans was steadily widening, even as she pressed her hand against his chest to staunch the bleeding. His eyelids flickered. Shock was setting in. It was unbelievable: were it not so unbearably real, she might have laughed. Two kits lay forgotten beside them, as her colleague screamed for an ETA on the bus. It wasn't supposed to end up like this, she reflected, but somehow with her it always did.

_**Half an hour earlier**_

_**Flack glanced up, frowning, from his memo book as the Avalanche rolled to a stop; his face cleared as his colleagues alighted looking as they always did. "Alright, what we got?" "Jimmy Lasetti, he's a bigshot in some firm on Wall Street. Accordin' to Sid, it looks like he was shot in the chest." They had reached the vic; the ME was bending over the unfortunate man to take a liver temp and, noticing their approach, immediately directed their eyes towards the fatal shot. "Stippling on the fabric around the wound would suggest point-blank range, looks like a fairly small-calibre weapon...Liver temp puts T.O.D at between 7pm and 9pm this evening-so an hour ago at most." "Hmm." "Mac?" "Doesn't look like a robbery; wallet, Blackberry and car keys are all in his pockets. Looks to me as if our Mr. Bigshot, got himself shot."**_

_**She shook her head as she turned to the car for her kit; it wasn't often the inimitable Mac Taylor made any wordplay at all, let alone a pun that useless. She wondered if he'd somehow stolen it from Danny. Turning back, she nodded to Don as canvassing began and he moved through the crowd taking statements. Her partner padded to the other end of the alleyway behind the vic's abandoned coupe as she took the tweezers to their DB's bloodied shirt. A barked order made her raise her head. "Hey! You can't come through here, son, this is a crime scene!" There was one quivering second of loaded silence and the air was rent by a bang. A hooded figure pelted past, with her in hot pursuit, Flack taking up the rear. Unfortunately, their crime scene was a street's width away from Central Park, and their shooter melted effortlessly into the crowd.**_

_**As Stella returned to the scene, the nape of her neck began to prickle. Mac hadn't pursued the suspect from his end of the alley.**_

_**By the wideness of his eyes, Don was feeling the same dread chill. With trepidation, the two rounded the Porsche. Mac was curled up into a foetal position, frightening in its vulnerability. Once a Marine, always a Marine; that was the phrase, and it was one that Mac was more likely to live out than any other. To betray pain or fear was to show weakness, which meant cowardice that failed your friends. This was different. She and Don rushed to his side, turning him onto his back and propping him up against Stella's crouching form. "This is Detective Flack, I got an officer down and an assailant last seen in Central Park who is armed and dangerous: get me a bus to West 106**__**th**__**, now! He's losing a lotta blood..."**_

What seemed like an epoch to Stella Bonasera was, in fact, less than ten minutes, but that couldn't slow her partner's rapid descent into glassy-eyed silence. She focused her olive green eyes on the glazed blue-green of Mac's and willed him to keep fighting. The blessed sirens came to a halt, and the EMTs descended. Pushed back to the periphery, she was dimly aware of Flack, on his cell to Danny in the lab. He was obviously trying to placate him. She wished him luck.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Streaking along 106th to St Luke's, with Flack following behind in the unmarked car, Stella gripped Mac's hand with an intensity she had only previously reserved for her piece. He groaned in agony, and it tore her to the bone, but even as the EMT leaned over to check his vitals and administer his meds, she continued. Strange; she couldn't let go. They squealed to a halt, and Mac was rapidly transferred from trolley to gurney, and whisked into surgery. She could go no further. A strangled sob to her left piqued her interest; turning her head towards the source of the noise she found Lindsay, seated next to Adam, supported by Danny and passed periodically by a pacing Flack.

Her head jerked up with a start as the resident came looking for Mac's 'relatives'. "We're his family." The firmness with which Adam spoke surprised them all, but none of them could disagree. Dr Chang acquiesced, motioning to them to follow him. "Detective Taylor suffered a nasty gunshot wound to the chest which, unfortunately, hit a major blood vessel. Although the injury itself was fairly routine to repair, his blood pressure is still extremely low. I'm afraid that unless he becomes more haemodynamically stable, the prognosis isn't good. Even if his pressure does reach an equilibrium of sorts, we won't know the damage done by the hypoxia until he wakes up."

**_If _**_he wakes up._

The doors to the ICU were code-protected. By the time the young man had punched the sequence in, all five were ready to force the doors, brandishing their shields if need be. The sight that greeted them was not a cheering one. Mac, the consummate fighting man, was helpless, aided only by machines which breathed for him, fed his circulation and regulated his sedation levels. A single piece of gauze hid his latest injury, but no amount of mechanics could disguise his ashen skin. It seemed they had all realised he was whiter than the sheets. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, brow slicked with beads of sweat. A look shared confirmed a rota of visiting hours, to which Sid and Hawkes would be added when they finished up with Mr Lasetti and his final meeting place. Mac Taylor would not be alone tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Stifling a yawn behind a slender hand, Lindsay Monroe reflected upon the wonderful time she had had in New York. It had only been a few months Danny had proposed to her (for the second time), and Mac and Stella had witnessed the wedding of two people who, it turned out, were perfect for each other. The hug from her New York father had taken her back.

**_"So how long does this berry affect you for?"_**

**_(Beat)_**

**_"The rest of your life."_ **

His reaction had been priceless. She had to admit, panic and bewilderment weren't expressions she had ever expected to see on Mac Taylor. As she recounted the story, teasing that she could tell her daughter how to get round his somewhat demeanour, she settled into her chair for her eight-hour shift. It was going to be a long night.

_It occurred to him, as he drifted aimlessly, that he must be swimming. Why else would he be floating? But who tells someone stories while they're swimming? He decided to let it slide: it was funny, after all. He wondered who this "Mac" guy was, and why the strange woman's voice was suddenly marred by tears. He wished he could reach out and tell her it was alright, that he was sure her friend wasn't hurting (just a little confused). Ah well, it seemed that the velvet blackness had been replaced by something a lot more interesting. A twisting stretch of white sand curved away from him, as far as the eye could see, fringed with pampas grasses and picket fence, and bordered by azure water. In his mind's eye, he smiled as he realised what this must be: as Claire came towards him in her most careworn sundress, he came to the conclusion that he was on honeymoon again. But, instead of kissing him with a smirk and a wink, as she had done that Monday evening in the Hamptons, she spoke. _

_"You need to go back, Mac." (So, that was **his** name...) "You're not meant to be here, you putz!" He didn't understand; why was his wife telling him to leave her when they needed to go home together? He decided to ignore her prodding, as he often did. Laughing, he scooped her up and carried her, screaming, into the sea. _

With a smile that was warm, if a little strained, Sheldon Hawkes gently shook the storyteller's shoulder. Her head, which had been resting next to Mac's left hand, rose with strands of hair tumbling into her face. The corners of her mouth turned up bashfully as the Doc replaced her, comforted by the relaxed expression on his charge's face. He trusted he was somewhere nice.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

_As the sun set over the bay and the waves lapped gently at the sands, Mac placed a gentle arm around his wife's thin shoulders. Her head settled into the crook between neck and shoulder, his chin resting on her crown."Claire?" "Mm-hm..." "Why did you tell me to go back, earlier? You don't wanna get rid of me this soon, right?" A musical giggle to his right made him smile mischievously, but the quick downturn in her smile signalled something darker. "I told you to go back because you're not supposed to be here. I would love to keep you here," at that, she smirked, "but we're not at the second honeymoon stage yet." Confused as he was by her cryptic response, Mac was distracted by a murmur, seemingly from above. "Did you hear that? Heh, maybe someone ratted us out for sitting on the country club's private stretch..." _

_He expected a laugh, or at least a lopsided smile. Instead, Claire turned to face him. "That's what I meant; it tells you there's somewhere else that wants you around as much as I do. This isn't our honeymoon, Mac. That was more than ten years ago." "Then why does it feel like it is?" "Maybe because both of us want it to?" "Wait a minute, if I'm not supposed to be here, what are **you** doing here?" He raised an eyebrow. "Hypocrite." She decided to be blunt. "I don't live in New York anymore, Mac. I...I died. Do you remember now?" The devastated look on his face told her he did. "So if you're dead, and this isn't our honeymoon, where are we?" _

As he settled into a chair beside the bed, and the fluorescent light melted into the glow of the city outside, Hawkes was reminded of a couch. Mac's 'offer you can't refuse' had shaken him out of his self-pitying funk, and for that he was glad. He had avoided telling people about the portfolio because he had been so sure that they would deride him for his gullibility but, instead, he had been met with the kind of steady hand that had been missing since Uncle Frank. He had been grateful for Mac's solitude; it took away the need to explain what he couldn't seem to say.

**_He settled on the couch, dropping his bag next to it and sinking into the cushions. After the day he'd had, a comfortable seat was exactly what he needed. He rested his elbows on his knees and exhaled; he was still trying to get his head around the fact that he was in his boss's apartment when he found himself plucked from his reverie by a bottle of beer being pushed into his right hand. He blinked owlishly as Mac grinned at him, then shrugged and sipped. He decided he needed to break the silence. "Mac, I..." An inquiring look. "I don't think I can thank you as I should for all this," he gestured at his surroundings, "but you have no idea just how much easier this makes things." "Don't mention it. You really think I don't know what it's like to be had? Don't beat yourself up about it, Sheldon; you put your trust in someone and they betrayed it, and the fault is nothing but their own." Getting to his feet, Mac clapped his hand on Sheldon's shoulder, took the bedclothes from the laundry pile and left. As he drifted into slumber, he turned the exchange over in his mind. Something about Mac's calm demeanour gave him bathos, he thought, and the words had certainly hit their mark. He woke with a new sense of purpose; he wasn't sure if it was the rest, or the beer, but he thought things looked brighter than they had in days._**

Something caught his attention. Out of the corner of his eye, Hawkes could see the furrow in Mac's brow deepen. A tear made its way down his face, and at that moment Sheldon knew something had gone very wrong indeed. 

_"I don't wanna leave you here, Claire! We're happy, we're together, you're **here**." "And it can't stay like that! This isn't a choice, Mac! You have to go back sooner or later; you can't come back here until you're ready to." She noticed the wind whipping the trees. Nope, he definitely couldn't stay forever, and sooner or later he'd have to accept that._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Sheldon tore his eyes away from Mac's troubled expression, curiosity piqued by something that sounded like someone _skipping_. He was saved from having to investigate as Lucy Messer came zooming into the room, Danny lolloping close behind. Just the sight of her was enough to make him smile, despite all this. She seemed perfectly unconcerned, clambering up the side of the bed and resting her head, very gently, on Mac's hand. She seemed to know that she needed to be careful; she lightly tapped his nose with her wand, then snuggled in for her early morning nap. At Hawkes' raised eyebrows, Danny sighed. "She's goin' through her 'fairy princess' phase. I tried ta persuade Linds to get her watchin' Toy Story and Bond movies, she argued Disney was at least better for her than Die Another Day. 'Less damaging', she says." Both men made faces: clearly, Jinx was a better role model for a young girl-there was no question about that...

_Even as he stormed away down the beach, with Claire knowing that he would soon come back, contrite, he felt his spirits lifting. Although he could see the wind was picking up, the sunbeams kissed the sea and set it sparkling into the horizon. He began to calm; it was as though someone had flicked a switch somewhere and dimmed the lights._

They sat in ruminative silence, watching with pride as Lucy's hand wrapped itself around Mac's index finger. He stilled. Danny and Sheldon shared a knowing look, as the little girl sat up and rubbed her eyes with balled fists. "Daddy, he look sick. Unky Mac sleepin'?" "Yeah, sweetie, Uncle Mac's asleep; it's 'cos he's really tired right now. But we're hopin' he's gonna wake up soon." She pointed at the gauze: "Unky Mac got an owwee." Her lip trembled. She gazed over at her godfather then, frowning with concentration, whispered something into his ear, whilst tapping her wand against his pillow. "Dere. I putted spell on him." She looked askance at her daddy. "He aw bettuh now?" "I hope so, Lu-Lu. I really hope so."

_"Unky Mac sleepin'?" He whirled around, wondering who else knew his name in this...place...and who would use baby talk. Even Claire couldn't regress that far back into childish things... He realised, blinking up, that it had come from the same place as the other voice. It sounded like a little girl. "...We're hopin' he's gonna wake up soon." Who was we, he wondered, and why were they so interested in taking him away from this utopia? Surely they knew he was better off here, if this was happening after she had died! Even if he had desired to 'go back', it was impossible. His (life?) was here now. _

_"Unky Mac got an owwee." She sounded upset, the poor kid had no idea that nothing was wrong here. "He aw bettuh now?" She was hoping that he would leave this place, and so was her father. With a sick jolt, he realised what this must be. Wherever the murmurs were coming from was the 'somewhere else' that his wife had mentioned._

_ "Claire? Please tell me I'm not where I think I am." "So you finally worked it out, huh? Took you long enough, smart guy. But like I say, you're not meant to **stay** here." He couldn't leave without Claire. It just seemed...wrong. She seemed to know what he was thinking. "You're thinking that we could both go back, right?" "Why not?" "Because you're not dead, idiot. If you were, things would be constant." "They...they are! Nothing has changed, it's still the same as it was when we came here before!" "Look at the trees." Sure enough, he realised that the weather had shifted from cloudless blue sky to windy and dull. _

_He decided that whatever the consequences he would not, could not, leave. He planted himself in one of the trees dipping into the swell, hidden amongst the verdant green. "You've gotta beat it sometime, y'know. You can't just sit up there forever." "I can, and will." Sighing, half amused, half-exasperated, she sat below the tree, ready to speak when the inevitable came. _

_He didn't know how much time had passed, or how long he'd curled himself up in this tree. He was aware that the sky was darkening. Claire's voice floated up through the foliage. "You know what this means, don'tcha?" Silence. "See you later, alligator." "What...?" He was dismayed to find that the branch he was sitting on appeared to be disappearing; he scrabbled to hold on, determined not to fall. He struggled as hard as he could against the darkening sky, then plunged, with a sob, back into the pool. _


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

It was good, he thought, that Stella had arrived just as Lucy and Danny were leaving. By her drawn expression, he reckoned she needed the pick-me-up almost as much as Mac did. The ghost of a smile flitted across her visage as she settled into her seat, gratefully accepting a coffee from Hawkes as he left.

She opened up the file, flicking through the report. They were still no closer to identifying the shooter, despite the relative excitement of finding his gun and hoodie abandoned in a trashcan beside The Pool. Having run the DNA and fingerprints though CODIS, IBIS, and every other database they could think of, they had had no hits. Their shooter wasn't in the system, and his gun had been a standard-issue Glock. The fingerprints and DNA from the scene had matched those found on the weapon, as had the slug removed from their vic, but they were getting nowhere. Stella was acutely aware that the longer they delayed, the colder the trail of evidence. She mused that Mac would have been most unimpressed, and she could bet that the case file would have ended up with the others on his desk. She stroked his hand absent-mindedly, and hoped he would come back to them soon.

_Even as he struggled harder, he was aware that the dark pool was getting lighter with every stroke. He could hear the sea at the other end of the pool, and kicked as hard as he could towards it. He had missed the simplicity of being on the beach with Claire, and he was determined to fight this every step of the way. _

As Don joined her wordlessly, thumbing through the crime scene pictures and the images from Mac's processing (it had been hard to watch), they settled into companionable silence. They were startled by the ringing of a cell. "Flack...yeah. Yeah, I'll be there soon as I can, Jimmy. Arite...see ya there." "Homicide?" "Yep." He sighed; he didn't want to go, but he was sure Stella could hold the fort 'til he got his chance. Picking up his coat, and giving the detective a quick hug, he buzzed himself through the door and stepped out into the hall. As the door closed, Mac stirred. Bolt upright, her files forgotten, Stella squeezed his hand. Elation soared in her chest, then died as the machines began to shrill.

"His pressure's through the floor!" "His pulse is dropping!" "We're losing him!" Stella forgot all notion of control, sinking to her knees and fighting to control her rising nausea. She couldn't lose him, she was sure of that. The defibrillator whirred, his body-no, she couldn't call it _that_-jerked. An orderly pulled her gently into the hall, sitting her down.

The ICU door buzzed, shaking Stella from a light doze. Head snapping up, she noticed the surgeon, and took note of his unreadable expression. _Talk about a poker face..._ Chang breathed out slowly, obviously relieved. "He's back with us, and off the vent, which is good news. Sometimes patients who are fighting can have a...crisis as they start to come through."

_After hurtling towards the sound of the sea, and a moment where he was sure he had seen Claire's blurred form, he found that all was still and quiet. He beat his fists against the darkness, to no avail, when a voice floated through the nothingness. "You really scared me Mac! You know, I have half a mind to make you pay for that when you get out of here!" Something else, in a strange, mellifluous tongue, was added which he could not place. Then the word 'strength' floated, unbidden, into his brain. He realised that this must be Stella. Who else did he know who knew Greek proverbs? He froze as she sighed. "Claire must have told you to come back to us, so stop being such a stubborn ass and do it already!" He did not know how she knew, but surmised that her understanding was enough. _

Stella sighed as she lowered herself back into the chair and gathered up the files that had scattered as she stood. "You really scared me Mac! You know, I have half a mind to make you pay for that when you get out of here!" She added the Greek phrase she had taught him to remind him of the strength that came from friends, more to soothe her own misgivings than anything else. She knew she had scolded him partly to make herself feel better, and partly because she was sure that he was keeping himself away for a reason. Inspiration came to her in the form of his wedding band. "Claire must have told you to come back to us, so stop being such a stubborn ass and do it already!"

The disappearance of his frown was all she needed. Satisfied her message had gotten through, she batted away excitement and forced herself to focus on the task at hand.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Stella was woken by a creaking to her right. Don Flack Jr. had folded his long frame into a plastic chair with a Styrofoam cup in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other. Noticing her out of the corner of his eye, he smiled. "How long have you been here?" "Not long. I figured you needed the rest." "Has anyone found anything yet?" He took a long and piercing look at her, raking her face with his ice-blue eyes. He decided to be truthful. "Nada. I'm leanin' on a couple informants, but there ain't nothin' comin' up except the odd chain-link fence. I'm sorry I couldn't give ya better news, Stell." Don had always been a fairly calm, if smart-mouthed, detective. This time, his Queens drawl hinted at his frustration. Exhaustion sagged in every nascent line of his handsome face, and his shoulders drooped in defeat. "You better get home, I don't wanna see you faintin' in the lab, arite?" "Don..." He cut her off firmly. "They told me what happened, and they also told me that it's pretty common, so I ain't fazed, okay?" She nodded wearily and left, rather reluctantly, because she knew it wasn't a smart move to argue with Don when he was this intense.

Pulling his chair closer to the bed, Flack felt his eyes begin to droop, but forced himself to keep awake. Mac Taylor would not wake up alone on his watch. His mind took him back to his own sojourn in the dark, and a hard voice floating to him like a dandelion on the breeze.

**_He wasn't sure how long he had been lying here. He was aware of soft sheets, a firm mattress, and a constant (damned annoying) beeping beside his left ear. He was pretty sure this wasn't his bed, and there was a warm hand gripping his own. It was too big, too callused to be a woman's, and the smell of disinfectant reached his nostrils. Which meant he was in hospital. Fantastic. It was very dark in here; he hoped someone would switch on the lights soon, 'cos this was getting boring. "Don. Squeeze my hand, Don." Strange. The hand must belong to Mac; the gruff voice and its Chicago vowels were a dead giveaway, he thought. He had no idea why Mac was even here; he wasn't a CSI, and he had done his fair share of arguing with the man. The voice came again, and Don was struck by something he had never heard before from him, and hoped never to hear again. "Don! Squeeze my hand! Squeeze my hand!" He was _**_pleading**. Mac Taylor was pleading with him. This was too weird. He decided to nip it in the bud, and forced all his energy to the fingers of his left hand. The pillow shifted under his head; Mac was leaning over him. His fear ebbed; he could almost hear Mac smile. **_

The thought struck him like an offering from Zeus. "Squeeze my hand, Mac. Just squeeze my hand, that's all you gotta do. Come on, that's it..." He kept his voice soft and light, feeling that the friendly approach was the one to take. He felt sure that an order now would mean an ass-kicking later, and he didn't need to give a man like that an excuse to chew him out.

_Another voice came to him through the dark, stiffening his relaxed frame. "Squeeze my hand, Mac. Just squeeze my hand, that's all you gotta do. Come on, that's it..." He was being coaxed. Were it not for the fact that the normally quick-fire Don Flack was doing the talking, he would have ignored it. He decided it was probably time to man up. He mustered all his strength and followed the soft voice._

One hand placed gently on Mac's left shoulder, the other curled around his right hand, Don sat back down heavily. He should have known he wouldn't come when called, despite the sensitivity of the phrase. He busied himself with a second stack of paperwork, then jumped as something moved. His first thought was that his friend's hand had slipped off the bed, but a ripple of movement in a bicep caught his eye. "Mac?" Another squeeze. He felt like whooping with delight but, instead, extricated himself, murmuring that he needed to find Dr Chang. The hand stayed closed around his own. "You don't want me to go, is that it? If you want me to stay with you, you're gonna need to give me a sign." Mac Taylor's lips formed a single word. _Stay. _Don Flack obeyed.

After what seemed like hours, another tiny movement caught Flack's attention. The other man's eyelids flickered, then dropped shut. "Mac, don't go back to sleep again, ya hear me? You gotta wake up sometime." To his surprise, Mac nodded. His blue-green eyes appeared from behind hooded lids, searched the room and fell on Don. He held his friend's stunned gaze as a wide smile split Flack's grave features. "I'm gonna go find your doctor, okay? You gotta promise me you're gonna stay awake long enough for him to see ya, else he's gonna think I'm loco, arite?" Something like a snort emanated from the bed, and Don knew at that moment that Mac was truly back. ****


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

As her phone buzzed on the bedside table, Stella was jerked out of a fitful sleep. She snatched it up. "Bonasera." "Stella, it's Don. Thought you might wanna hear this from me first. Mac woke up." A beat, then silence. "Stell?" A sniff from the other end of the line told him she was probably crying. "I...I'm okay, Don, just relieved. Tell him I'm coming over as soon as I can, okay?" As he rang off without another word, she said a silent prayer of thanks.

Across town, Lucy babbled in her high chair as Lindsay busied herself with spooning mashed banana into her daughter's laughing mouth. The phone rang, and a faint shout from the other end of the hall told her Danny had picked it up. He'd been well trained, she thought with a wry smile. She cocked her head; he was _whooping_. She had become used to many juvenile things with Danny around, yet this wasn't one of them. She smirked as he rounded the corner, kissed her full on the lips and swung his daughter high into the air. He set her back down, sheepishly, as his wife looked at him quizzically. "That was Flack." An intake of breath. "Mac woke up!" They hugged, screaming and leaving little Lucy Messer rather confused at just what had gotten into mommy and daddy today.

The sound of running feet made Sid Hammerback look up from his latest v. He opened his mouth to share an anecdote about the dangers of running on concrete when Sheldon burst into the room, grinning, he thought, like the Cheshire Cat. "Sheldon," he intoned mildly, "what brings you down here at such speed?" "Mac opened his eyes; Don says he tried to speak, couldn't get above a whisper and rolled his eyes...something tells me he's on form." Sid let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "That's wonderful! When you see him, tell him I'll be in to say hi soon." But Sheldon was already out the door.

In the dark and quiet of the A/V lab, Adam was blocking out the world by staring intently as the security footage from the bank opposite their crime scene. So focused was he on finding anything that might lead him to their shooter than he didn't notice his cell phone's lights until the third ring. "Adam Ross?" "Hey Adam, it's Flack." "H-h-hey Flack, you need me to help with somethin'?" There was a chuckle on the other end; "You need to stop bein' so nervous, buddy, I ain't gonna bite your head off. I just called to tell ya Mac's awake, so finish up whatever you're workin' on and come over to St Luke's soon as you're ready. 'Kay?" "Okay, I'll see you pretty soon, I guess..." Snapping the phone closed, Adam punched the air with glee. "What up!" He nodded his head to some unknowable song, rocking out to an invisible beat. Ripping off his headphones and securing the door, he snatched up his messenger bag and headed for the stairs.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Dr Chang had seen many families huddled in his waiting room; some in states of high ecstasy at miraculous recoveries, others devastated by their loss. Such extremes of emotion were all part and parcel of witnessing humanity in all its misery and joy. He couldn't remember having seen a family as disparate, yet as fiercely loyal, as this one. He supposed that having occupational hazards such as these would tend to make a team close-knit, and he smiled warmly as they trooped gamely towards the door where Don Flack was waiting. They each hugged one another in turn, and he took his chance; popping his head around the door to the detective's room, he was greeted with a welcoming raise of the eyebrows. "It seems you have some visitors. You okay with me letting them in?" The patient nodded vigorously, stopping abruptly as he realised what he'd done. He chuckled. "Don't worry, Detective Taylor, I won't tell them you were excited to see them..." The man gave him a grateful nod, and settled back onto his pillows.

There was a crush worthy of the Three Stooges as all seven of them headed for the door at once. Stella made it through first, rushing to her best friend's side and hugging him tightly. Something caught Mac's attention, a whisper only for him. "I'm so glad you're okay, Mac! I was terrified when I thought I'd lost you!" She hit him playfully on the shoulder, exclaiming, "Don't you ever do that to me again!" Stella fell back to allow Lindsay to hug him just as fiercely, and Danny to clap him on the shoulder with a twinkle in his eyes. Lucy bounced on the balls of her feet as Mac's face relaxed into the smile he saved for his goddaughter alone. "Unky Mac woke up! He no got an owwee no mow?" "I think Uncle Mac is still a little sore, sweetie, so be careful," warned Lindsay. The little girl complied; lifted onto the bed by her father she buried her bead in the crook of her godfather's neck and giggled. Hawkes watched and smiled. "How're you feeling Mac?" "Swamped." Sheldon grinned, and excused himself. "I'm gonna ask Lee when you're getting out of here, okay?" Mac inclined his head gratefully and watched him leave.

A movement in the far corner of the room piqued his attention; he knew Don was hanging back to let the others have their turn, but there was someone else standing beside him. Shifting from side to side and shuffling his feet, Adam caught him looking and ducked his head, looking at some distant spot on the stucco wall. Mac knew that Adam was scared of him; he suspected it was the same for any authority figure. He motioned to the lab tech, who assumed an expression more commonly found on a rabbit in headlights. He made his way over and stood a foot from the bed, frightened to come any closer. Beckoned forwards, Adam acquiesced. Mac was thankful he seemed to have found his voice at last. "Adam. I know you're afraid, but I'm glad you're here, okay? You're a part of my team, so don't you forget that. Don told me you defended the team, got everyone in the loop...good work." Adam's face lit up; he nodded and scuttled back to stand beside Don, who clapped him on the back and whispered something in his other ear. He suspected it went along the lines of "Told you so..." As the chatter increased, he felt a kind of warmth steal over him. Mac revelled in the ethos of the place. Despite himself, he was glad he had come back to this.

_As she heard the laughter crescendo at the antics of a pink-clad little girl, Claire smiled to herself. She had known he would fight it, but coming to an accommodation with his fate seemed to have done Mac the world of good. Peace reigned. Things were as they should have been and, though she missed him, she wouldn't have swapped this for the world._


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

The morning after Mac had awoken, in a tiny apartment in the north-east corner of Co-Op City Jeyman Hernandez stood, retching over the sink in his mother's bathroom. Turning on the faucet, he washed away his turmoil and turned to leave. As a car backfired on the edge of the lot, his mind's eye treated him to a vision of a dark-haired man, eyes wide, stumbling away from him behind a parked coupe. He shuddered. Picking up a sheaf of handwritten papers from his dresser drawer, he stuffed them into his Wilson Junior High bookbag, left a shaky note for his mother, and turned into the living room. A news segment on the TV in the corner of the room caught his imagination as his pulse quickened.

The banner headline "Shot CSI Chief Regains Consciousness" rolled under the news bulletin. "We understand that Detective Taylor has woken up; can he identify the shooter?" "What is his condition now?" "Is there any more information on the case?" Another detective, this one tall, reed-thin and extremely focussed, was leaving the 74th Precinct and being bombarded with questions by the local press. He raised a hand for silence. Knowing that he wouldn't suffer fools, the anchors, unusually, obliged. The nametag underneath the footage read "Det. Don Flack, NYPD Homicide". "Detective Taylor has regained consciousness, and our investigation is ongoing. We will not be releasing any more information on the case until we're in a position to do so, so _don't_ (he glared pointedly at the hack who'd dared to interrupt) even ask. I will say this, though: we will catch whoever did this and they will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. No further comment will be made at this time." Ignoring the hurly-burly and the rising cacophony of voices, the new detective strode through the crowd, folding himself into his car.

Stunned, Jey dropped to a sitting position, perched on the edge of the couch. After a classmate had been gunned down in a driveby, he had seen Detective Flack in the hallways taking statements, and he'd heard about the guy's determination from his friends. Don Flack was not a man to be messed with, and if he was looking for him then he had no chance. He would have to knock this on the head himself.

Across town at St Luke's, Mac Taylor was fighting...with a nurse. As she tried to coax him into letting her sedate him so she could replace his outer stitches with a smaller gauge, he shook his head, arguing that "surely they must be fine" as they were. Sighing, Laurel headed out into the corridor, almost colliding with Don, who was on his way in. Blushing lightly at the kind smile and the "Woah, sorry!" that he offered her, she explained in an undertone that Mac was refusing a treatment that could aid his healing, apparently out of sheer stubbornness. Mouth setting into a grim line, Don turned and stepped into the room as Laurel shook herself, a shiver running down her spine at the chilling determination in Flack's blue eyes. Re-entering the room she found herself in the midst of an argument, with Mac pushing against Don every inch of the way. "Arite Mac, time for plan B. I know you'll probably kill me once you're strong enough, but you need this so I don' care." In one swift movement, Don had pinned Mac's arms to his sides. "Will you please just let her do this?" Mac sighed, acquiescing as Don loosened his grip. "Thank you." A cheeky smirk was swiftly replaced by a surprisingly gentle tone of voice as Don helped Laurel to manoeuvre him into the right position: "Mac, I'm just gonna hold your hands in case you try to move too much, okay." As he stirred, then slipped under properly, his friend perched on the edge of the bed and gripped each hand between both of his. After a few minutes of efficient work from the RN, Don felt safe enough to let go as Laurel placed the finishing knots on a set of finer, smaller stitches that were more appropriate now that Mac's wound was healing.

Turning onto his side, Mac's face relaxed, as did the tension in his shoulders. Don watched carefully, eyes raking his features for any sign of discomfort as his phone began to buzz in his breast pocket. Taking the call, he stepped out into the hall. "Hey, Don, it's Lindsey. We got a case to case hit on the bullet they recovered from Mac, and there's some trace on the vic's shirt you should probably see when you're done." "Okay, what've we got?" "The gun was used in a bodega robbery in Midtown three years ago: we arrested a big pusher called Lil' Sugar but because we didn't have the gun we couldn't link him to the crime." "You think he's still got the weapon?" "Could be worth a shot." Snapping his cell shut, Don motioned to Laurel. "Can you tell him I'm following a lead when he wakes up?" "Sure thing. And...thanks." Nodding, Flack turned and left.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

A little while later Flack stood, legs akimbo, outside an unassuming door in Midtown. Body armour riding up his back he glanced over at Danny, whose position mirrored his. They nodded at one another, and Don extended a hand to rap on the door. "Lil' Sugar! NYPD, open up!" With no response, he tried again, then motioned for Danny to try the handle. The door swung open. Extending their weapons, they entered the commercial lot. Although there was certainly evidence of crystal meth and crack production, the shouts of "Clear!" emanating from the other rooms suggested that their target had long since left the building. Making his way down the stairs into the basement, Flack was just about to declare the raid over when a noise behind him caught his attention. Wheeling round, he was met with the butt of a gun and a length of two-by-four. Sickening pain flashed across his temple and the back of his head before his vision blurred and all was dark.

Hearing a commotion, Danny motioned to two of the Tactical Assistance team and made his own way down. His colleagues chased after the two men desperately trying to wriggle through the windows level with the ground, cuffing and hauling them up the stairs. His attention turned to Don, and his line of sight fell upon a long pair of legs splaying out from behind a plastic drum. Rounding the corner, he dropped to his knees, yelling for a bus and checking for a pulse. Worried about the possibility of another of them being hurt, the team had requested that Sheldon accompany them to the bust. He made his way down the stairs, bag in hand, at Danny's panicked shout.

Shaking Flack's shoulder, Sheldon hissed through his teeth. The oozing of blood from a small wound on Flack's temple was soon superseded by the discovery of an alarming amount trickling down the collar of his shirt from an ugly gash to the back of his crown, and Sheldon's practised hands flew to his pockets. Pulling out a light pen, he gently lifted each of Don's eyelids in turn, noting with concern that although his pupils were equal and reacted to the light (both good signs), they would not follow the light as he moved it from side to side (bad). As the EMTs lifted the gurney down the stairs, he and Danny each took hold of Flack's legs and shoulders and helped them shift their patient. Taking Messer aside, Sheldon explained the newest casualty in a low voice to keep him calm. "He's definitely got a concussion. I've asked them to take him to St Luke's because it's close enough anyway, so they'll both be in the same place." "I just can't believe it's happened to two of us now, y'know? First Mac, now Don..." "Yeah, it seems we're having an unlucky period. He'll be okay, Danny. He's young and strong, and the signs are good." Nodding, Danny blew out through his mouth, following his best friend up through the lot and out into the ambulance.

In the trace lab, Lindsay took note of unexpected blood spatter patterns on Jimmy Lasetti's Gucci shirt. Instead of one consistent with being shot by someone in front or behind him at point blank range, there were blood drops on the right-hand cuff of the shirt-suggesting that he had actually turned the gun on himself. Writing down her findings, she secured the evidence and answered her cell on the second ring. "Hey Cowboy, did you get anything out of our man in Midtown?" Her face paled as her husband explained that not only had they found nothing on Lil' Sugar to suggest involvement, but that Don was now on his way to St Luke's with a concussion and a Coma Scale rating of five. Snapping the phone shut, she picked up her bag, stuck her head around the A/V lab door to warn Adam, and collided with Stella. Her friend's face told her everything; both women silently headed for the parking lot and sped off to confront what passed for the lab's worst forty-eight hours since the shootings at Sully's.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Danny Messer strode along beside the gurney as Flack, white and unmoving, was rushed into a trauma room. As they began to cut away his shirt, he caught sight of an elliptical scar on his best friend's chest, a grisly reminder of the last time he had faced injury on the job. As they removed his badge and his St Michael Archangel, Danny automatically held his hand out for them. His last glimpse of Flack before being steered out of the room by Sheldon was of him being rolled onto his side, his upper back streaked with blood. He noticed a mark in the middle of his lower back which, on closer inspection, proved to be a tattoo-a pair of angel wings.

_For Don, the last half hour had been, well, strange. He thought he had heard muffled voices but eschewed them in favour of the familiar fuzzy, floaty feeling. He found himself on solid ground rather quicker than he would have liked but ended up, not in his mother's kitchen with a plate of corned beef, but on a bench in what looked like Coney Island. "I hope you haven't come to try busting out your game on me again, Don." "Jess." He noted that it was a statement rather than a question. "Hi. What the hell are you doing here?" "Nice to see you too." "I mean it. You have a concussion, not a gunshot wound." "I wanted to see you, I guess." "Try harder." "Uhh, I'm not fighting hard enough?" "Bingo. Now get your ass back into the real world and face this." He turned to her seriously. "I never told you..." "I know. I love you too, Don." As he began to sob, she held him as tightly as she could, knowing that he would soon be ready to begin the journey back. _

_As he treaded water in the space between wanting to wake up and actually getting the balls to do it, Don heard Dr Chang's voice resonating through the dark. "It's an unusually deep concussion, Sheldon. There shouldn't be any lasting damage, but it definitely shouldn't be taking him this long to wake up. We'll put him in a room beside Detective Taylor and see how he is overnight, and if we need to scan him again the morning we can. Then you, Detectives," (so Stella and Lindsay must be there too), "can see him as much as you want." They murmured their thanks, and he decided he had time. Apparently, way more than a half hour had passed, but that had always been the way of things with Jess. _

In a double room on the sixteenth floor, Mac Taylor looked up from a journal as Stella entered the room looking, for all the world, as if she were about to tell him something terrible. Looking at her inquisitively, he asked "What happened? Did someone get hurt?" "Don." Her voice came out as a sort of choked sob, and he motioned to her to lean in for a hug. Frowning, his tone urgent and sharp, Mac demanded to know what was wrong. Silently, Stella motioned to the door as a bed was wheeled past it. With a sharp intake of breath, he took in Flack's appearance. He was pale and dead to the world, eyes closed and hands limp at his sides. As he was put in a room of his own next door, Sheldon explained what had happened. At least the thugs who had done this to one of his best were behind bars in the bullpen, he thought.

Early the next morning, as a shaken Laurel left after checking Don's vitals, Adam Ross arrived in the hallway. Tentatively rounding the corner into Mac's room he was surprised to see that Don had been moved into the bed opposite. "I asked them to put him in here." His head swivelled towards Mac's gravelly voice, which had come from the easy chair next to the window. Looking out at the city as the afternoon wore on, he motioned to Adam to take the other chair. Not really knowing what to say, Adam began to tell Mac about the new software he'd been developing to recognise and age faces. As his boss listened attentively, a perky-voiced young woman with a wheelchair entered the room, as Mac turned and smiled. "Hi there! You must be Adam, I'm Hannah, the physical therapist, could you hold the chair for me whilst we stand your boss up?" She said this all in one breath, very fast, and Adam was reminded of himself. He relaxed and held the handles of the chair as Mac eased himself into it with a grimace. "I'll be back in an hour or so if you want to hang around; I know the others are planning on getting here round about then." "Is it okay for me to stay?" "I'd like you to. It's probably a good idea to try talking to Don-it's a good way of getting through."

As he stood in the middle of the room, at a loss, Adam's gaze fell on Flack, still unconscious in his hospital bed. He gingerly sat down next to him, beginning to speak. "Hey, uh, it's Adam. I know we've never been best buddies or anything like that, because you're so cool and calm and I'm just a nerd who's good with computers a-and not really with people so much, but, uh, I just wanted to say thanks for, y'know, helping me out when we all went to see Mac and I was like seriously out of place. You don't treat me like I'm stupid, or-or-or _bad_, or some useless geek, and, uh, that's pretty important," he took a gulp of air "to, uh, to me. I couldn't tell you that if you were, uh, _awake_, because, uh, I would probably just get all tongue-tied and you would think I was really stupid because, uh, guys don't say things like that especially not to, uh, detectives."

_Drifting aimlessly in a pleasant haze, Don was suddenly aware of a soft and stumbling voice somewhere around the area of his right ear. He realised it was Adam. He was doing that _thing_ again, the self-deprecating trope where he kept putting himself down and comparing himself to people with nothing of his technical skill. Sure, he wasn't the smoothest talker, but Don suspected that had something to do with Daddy Dearest. Adam's self-loathing was the kick-start he needed to push himself back into the real world, if only to make the kid see sense. He readied himself, and willed himself not to sound too sick, before he spoke. _Dammit._ So much for not sounding sick..._

If he hadn't seen Don's lips move, Adam would have passed off the sound as a trick of his overactive imagination. _You're not a useless geek._ "Flack? Did you say something?" A little stronger now, "I said you're not a useless geek. If I had even a tenth of your talent I would be a very happy man." Stuttering a "Uh, wow, thanks!", Adam shifted so that he was in Flack's line of sight. "Can you open your eyes? Don. Don, open your eyes, come on. Hey, hey don't go back to sleep, you have to look at me. Look at me!" The young man's voice sounded more commanding than he'd ever heard it, so he followed his lead, cracking open his eyes. Bad move. Adam's face swam before him, as the fluorescent light sent blinding pain through his eyeballs and into his skull. He retched, and found himself being pulled into a sitting position by a surprisingly strong pair of hands as Adam called for a nurse. Feeling the heat rise in his cheeks, Flack leaned back into the coolness of his pillows and closed his eyes as Laurel came in, administering an anti-sickness drug and turning out the lights. His companion smiled softly. "You don't need to be embarrassed, Don. You're sick and it's okay." In that simple, kind statement, Don learned more about Adam's demeanour than he had in seven years. Confident that he would be well looked after, he drifted back into a healing sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Don woke to the rustling of a newspaper. Turning slightly to his right, he was met with Mac, sitting in the chair beside his bed and leafing through the New York Times. "Nice of you to drop by. You had us all really worried, Don." "Sorry 'bout that. I'll keep a better watch out for pieces of wood coming at me from behind next time." He instantly regretted his childish joke as Mac's face darkened. "I mean it, Stella's heading in straight from her shift because she "had to see for herself that you were alright"." Flack winced at the sharp tone of his elder's voice and settled back onto his pillows as the staccato tap-tap of Stella's heels along the linoleum drifted along the hallway.

She appeared in the doorway, all but dropping her bags and throwing her arms around him. "I'm so glad you're okay, the doctors were worried because you'd been out so long!" He noted, with no small amount of guilt, the dark circles under her eyes and the slight tremble in her voice as she continued, "Lindsay says she's sorry she couldn't come, but Danny had to interrogate your guy about the gun, and someone needed to collect Lucy from daycare, so..." He nodded, dipping his head in shame as she gave him a long, hard stare. "Why did you go down there without backup? I know I've done my fair share of it, but with a guy like him?" "I had my gun drawn, and there wasn't any sign of people in the rest of the lot, so I figured I'd let them clear the rest of it and take a quick trip to the basement. Next thing I know, some guy pistol whips me an' his buddy takes a roofing timber to my noodle. When can I get outta here?" "As soon as the nausea and the drowsiness stop. They'll want to keep you here for a couple days." He groaned in frustration, an action that was not missed by Mac. "Even if I have to incur the wrath of every doctor and physical therapist in the building, I will not let you leave this room until you're well enough to go home. Even then, I've asked Hawkes to stay with you for a couple days to make sure." Beaten, Flack sighed and nodded, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. Stella and Mac shared a worried look, knowing that that level of sleepiness in a man that young was probably a sign of a very severe concussion.

At that moment, Dr Chang entered the room for ward rounds and after prodding Mac's wound and murmuring that it was healing nicely, he turned his attention to Don. "I know he woke up early yesterday afternoon; how's he been since then?" He did not miss the unspoken statement that passed between the two detectives, obviously very close to each other and their charge. Mac huffed. "Very sleepy. He wakes up for a few minutes then goes back under. He was nauseous when he woke up, too." "Is he lucid when he does regain consciousness?" Stella chimed in, "He seems to be. He was able to tell us what happened." "Hmm. I think we need to give him another scan to make sure there's no other damage." He gently shook Don's shoulder, brow creasing as Flack's eyes slowly slid back into focus. "Don, what date is it?" "September 6th 2011." "Good, and who is the president?" "Barack Obama." "What is your date of birth?" "January 15th, 1977." "What do you work as?" "A First Grade Homicide Detective with the NYPD." "Can you touch your nose with your right index finger please?" Don tried once, twice, three times-and missed. "How many fingers am I holding up?" "Uhh, four."

Putting two fingers down, Lee frowned at the other two detectives, silently confirming that this was a severe concussion. Although there were no signs of a further head injury or any deeper trauma (given that he could remember what had been done to him), the blurred vision and tired demeanour suggested a particularly nasty assault. "We need to give you another set of scans, just to make sure there aren't any underlying explanations for the drowsiness and double vision." "Nodding limply Don allowed the orderlies to pick him up and place him on the gurney wordlessly. Even shuffling over to the trolley himself seemed to be beyond him. His out of character behaviour only served to deepen his friends' anxiety over his neurological state; as he was wheeled out of the room towards the scanners, Stella's phone began to buzz. It was Danny, and he was not going to like this one bit...


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

"Whaddya mean, he's goin' for another scan? Shouldn' he be up and wisecrackin' by now?" Danny demanded. "There's no evidence that there's anything deeper wrong, they're just giving him another set to confirm it. He should be done soon if you want to bring Lucy over..." Answering in the affirmative, he closed the phone, turning to the door as his wife stepped through the door, holding an antsy Lucy by the hand as she launched herself into her father's embrace. "How is he?" "Well, the good news is, he woke up. The bad news is that he's not feelin' too hot, so they've hadta send him for another scan..." Pursing her lips, Lindsey began to pack a bag with a snack and a juicebox for her daughter, only stopping to ask her if she wanted to go and see her 'Uncle Don'. As his daughter fairly skipped out the door, Danny followed with only a dark look in the mirror to convey his displeasure.

In the scanner suite, Dr Chang peered at Flack's slides, which confirmed that there was no lasting damage to the young man's neurological function. Although relieved, he decided to do some investigative work of his own in order to explain the uncommonly bad reaction of his patient to his Level 4 concussion. As they installed him onto his own bed, Lee placed a hand on Don's shoulder as Detectives Bonasera and Taylor looked up expectantly. "Okay, so we've determined that there's no wider problem-it is just a concussion. However, I'd still like to ask you a couple simpler questions. First off, how've you been sleeping recently?" To their surprise, Don cast his eyes downward, refusing to move his gaze up to Mac's face even as he prompted, "Don?" He mumbled, "I uh, haven't really slept in days. I just kept goin' back between the precinct, the lab and the hospital...even when I went home to change I couldn't rest." Turning his head away, he refused to meet either of his friends' eyes. "Mmhmm, and how much sleep would you say you had in the 72 hours before your injury? Eighteen?" Flack shook his head. "Fifteen?" No response. "Twelve?" His eyes briefly flickered up to Dr Chang, then dropped to the floor again. "Less than twelve, so...ten? Eight?" "Four." The answer was so quiet that they almost didn't catch it, but Chang was too close to pretend not to hear. "Four hours in four days, okay, and had you been eating? I have it on good authority that you like your food, Detective." A small smile ghosted across his charge's face, but the answer was exactly what he _hadn't_ hoped. "I didn' really eat the first day, then Lindsey and Danny made me have dinner at their place. I had a sandwich at about five the day after that, and a banana before the raid-I can't eat before a bust, makes me queasy..." "Okay, so you haven't really eaten or slept in over 72 hours. The nausea means solids aren't a good idea, but a drip won't get the calories into you quickly enough. I'm not going to put you under sedation; I want you to get back into a normal sleep pattern. I am, however, going to request that you be put on a feeding tube." At the words 'feeding tube', Flack blanched, shaking his head very firmly and setting his jaw, but Stella was too quick for him. "Are you really stupid enough to endanger your health like that? Because you seem to be intent on causing yourself as much harm as ya can right now..." He looked askance at Mac, another man who hated medical interventions. But he found no comfort there, either. "Don." He grimaced, very aware that he was being given a _serious_ ass-kicking. "You worked yourself into the ground to try and find the guy who put me in here. You acted rashly, and recklessly, and you were irresponsible. I expected more from you, Don. Now, if you wanna be the one who catches him, you'd better sit your ass down and take the tube."

Don was saved from having to answer by the entrance of his honorary niece. Lindsay's eyes flickered to each face as she understood she had walked into a mine field. "You could cut the tension in here with a butter knife, what happened?" As Danny stepped into the room, Stella answered. "Apparently, Robocop here didn't deem it necessary to sleep or eat for the past four days. He's being put on a feeding tube." Lindsay's face switched from shock to anger as Don looked at her, ashamed. Her voice shaking, she ground out "You told me you were eating, Don. You said you were sleeping, four hours a night! You lied to me!" Tears springing to her eyes, she turned away aghast as Danny glared at his best friend, who was hugging his 'goddaughter' to his chest and holding her close. "See, I was mad enough at you before, but now you made Montana cry...what were you thinking?" Pouring his frustration into a diatribe, he focused his blue eyes on those of his friend, searching for some kind of reasonable explanation. "I can't explain it, okay? It...it helped, you know? To be doing something instead of wondering what I coulda done to keep Mac safe..." The heavy silence was broken by a snuffling from the crook of his neck as Lucy fell asleep in his arms. Extricating his daughter, Danny placed a hand on Don's shoulder, nodding and turning to take her home. Laurel passed him in the doorway, with a tray containing the offending item. Stella hugged Flack, before walking out into the corridor to give him some privacy as another orderly wheeled Mac away at his request. Don understood-he couldn't bear seeing Mac being intubated, and Mac couldn't bear seeing it happen to him. Lindsay, on the other hand, sat beside him on the bed. "You can go, y'know." Raising her eyebrows, she laced her fingers with his. The tight squeeze he gave them told him that, no matter what his image, he needed her there.

As Laurel's light touch turned his head into the light, and his gaze focused upon the pair of brown eyes to his left, the nurse tried to be as soft as she could. Gently, she held Don's cheek, slowly sliding the tube down into his stomach as he gagged and coughed. Lindsay tenderly stroked his hair back from his forehead, a motherly gesture that made the tear slipping from his eye all the more distressing. "There, it's all over. It's in, Don." Embarrassed, he turned his head as a light blush coloured his cheeks. "Don't be ashamed. Please?" He nodded, feeling sleep begin to claim him. With a tiny sigh, he drifted off as Lindsay all but stumbled out of the room and into Stella's hug. As they watched their friend slumbering, Mac wheeled himself back into the room with Stella close behind. The hope was that with rest and sustenance, Don could finally recover and get back to what he loved.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Meanwhile, passing the 'E-Z Rental' store on the corner of the block, Jey's eyes were drawn to the bank of TVs in the far window. The local news station's ticker tape flashed up that the lead investigating officer in the attempted homicide of Det. Mac Taylor had been seriously injured in a gang bust and wouldn't be back on the job for days. Jey swore inwardly, heading into a nearby alley and jumping lightly into a clean dumpster. He was a fugitive, and until Don Flack was back in the bullpen, he had to sit tight and keep his head down lest they discover him before he could make it right. Hunkering down in the cold, Jey shivered as the darkness began to fall and the noises of the city changed and became more ominous. He knew he needed to lay low, and curled up to try and keep warm.

As Lindsay stepped into her kitchen, she was met with the delicious aroma of spaghetti and meatballs, as her stomach rumbled. Danny turned and, seeing the stricken look on her face, motioned to her. As he sat opposite her at the breakfast bar, she admitted that to see Flack so vulnerable had brought back memories of the bar shooting that were still tough to deal with. "When he was looking at me, his eyes were just...screaming, 'Get me out of here!'. He was so upset, Danny. He just sat there and took it, he was gagging, and tearing up, and..." She sighed, unable to add to her husband's stress as he closed his hand over hers then shifted to offer her a plate. Eating in companionable silence, they both felt the tension ebb as they readied themselves to sleep.

Across town, Mac's sleep was far more disjointed. He jolted awake, instinctively reaching for his piece before opening his eyes. What he saw made his heart clench. Don was tossing and turning wildly in his sleep and threatening to pull the tube out. "Jess! **Jess! **No, no, no, no, no...don't go, please. Please!" Having suffered similar nightmares after speaking to Claire had made it all come to the surface again, Mac knew what would help. He gently shook Don's shoulders, waking him just enough to see that he was in the hospital with his friend beside him. Don stilled, but his hand stayed closed around Mac's own. He took the hint, and stayed.

In the Trace Lab, Hawkes (unable to sleep) was poring over their victim's shirt again. He spotted some oily residue on the left hand cuff similar to motor oil. Swabbing it and running it through GCMS, he sighed as the test came up positive for bike chain oil, with traces of benzene, carbon and lead-it suggested a bike that had been tied up on a balcony or fire escape in a high rise, where the smog tended to settle. He knew it couldn't help him identify his shooter, and until they had someone to find, such clues were nothing but circumstantial evidence taken out of context. Turning back to the shirt, he reviewed the other cuff. Although he concurred with Lindsay's findings about the spatter pattern, he had noticed something else-a tiny powder burn that could easily have been mistaken for wear and tear. Following his intuition, he cut open the breast pocket to reveal fine grey dust. GSR. They could rule out murder from the rap sheet for their suspect-Jimmy Lasetti had killed himself for some reason. Mac's attempted murder remained unsolved, however, and he resolved to carry on.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

As Flack woke, he was aware of another presence in the room. He knew it was none of the CSIs, and he supposed that Mac was out at his physio session. Inclining his head toward the window, he nearly jumped out of his skin. "_Dad?_", he whispered. "Donald. Sythe called me, told me you were in here with a, whaddya call it, a neurological injury. What the hell, son?" Swallowing, Don glanced at his father, still surprised to find him at his side. Even before Mom had died, Donald Michael Flack Sr. had never been comfortable with visiting him in hospital after hockey. After his first injury on the beat, a superficial gunshot wound after a bodega robbery, his father had come in, clapped him on the shoulder, told him to get well soon, and left as fast as his feet could carry him. In the days after the explosion he'd only been able to bring himself to visit twice, and stayed out in the corridor for much of the time..."Why're you here, Dad? I know you don' like hospitals." "Well, when I told Sythe I couldn' face comin' in, he handed the phone to a Detective Monroe-Messer. She sounded so much like your mother I couldn' say no. Plus, I don't wanna get on the wrong side of Detective Bonasera."

He could only nod, shocked that Linds had been able to make his intransigent father change his mind. For the first time in a long time, he was also scared of him, which didn't help. As he explained the sequence of events as he remembered it, he became aware that his dad wanted to talk about something else entirely. "You, uh, talkin' about not treatin' myself right?" "I am." He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "It wasn't intentional, Dad. I just thought there were more important things: we all _need_ to close this case and find the sick bastard who shot Mac...I can't stand the thought of him out there! He coulda killed a cop! If one of us gets hurt, we will always get our man, you know that. All I cared about was seeing him go away, anythin' else just seemed kinda irrelevant..." He stopped, seeing his father's face become mutinous. "Do you know what your mother would say if she saw you like this? A fit, strong _fear óg_, wasting away in a hospital bed on a feeding tube? She would be terrified for you, Donald!" As his father thundered, Don recoiled in fear, shrinking back into his pillows. "I guess...it all just came up and hit me around the head. It ain't been five months yet since I lost her, Dad, and now I nearly lose a close friend too? I just want it all to stop, okay?" For the first time since Bianca de Fazio had dumped him the day after prom, he found himself crying into his father's shoulder; the tears wouldn't stop coming. "It hurts so much, and I'm just _so tired_..." Sighing and pressing a kiss to the top of his son's dark head, Don Sr. hugged him close. "Mo mhac, an méid atá déanta agat chun tú féin?" As he drifted back into sleep, Don tightened his grip on his father's shirt, and was met with a rare squeeze.

Don the elder looked up to see Mac Taylor, eyes slightly brighter than normal, standing shakily in the doorway. He nodded toward him, gently lowering Donald onto the bed and pulling the blankets around him. "Reckon he needed that." "Aye, he's been bottling it all up, hasn't told me, Samantha or Declan anything since the funeral. I just can't understand why he didn't _think_! So what's the story with him then? Will he be able to go on with the case?" "If he keeps improving over the next few days, no reason why not. Danny Messer's interviewing one of those punks now."

In Interrogation, Danny was barely keeping his cool, faced by the six foot six muscle repository that was one of Li'l Sugar's heavies. "I did what I had to do to defend myself against a pig. You would shoot us, why shouldn' we defend ourselves against you, man?" "Oh, so using your third amendment rights to arm yerself with a plank o' wood the width of my arm is perfectly legit? You nearly killed the guy, John-Joe!" Lindsay took the role of the icy bad cop, one she relished as it never came around often. Stalking round the desk to lean in and slip words into his ear, she crooned, "Do you really think we won't throw everything in the book at you, JJ? Possession of an offensive weapon, accessory to attempted murder, attempted murder, assaulting a police officer to his severe injury, battery, resisting arrest...I could go on, but if I get my way you will be getting at _least_ forty years in Sing Sing for this." Danny huffed, raising his eyebrows and gesturing with his palms up. "Ouch. That's a lotta jail time JJ, are you sure you wanna take the rap for Li'l Sugar this time? Cause, uh, unlike my colleague over there, I'm not...averse...to doing deals if the price is right. Whaddya say you tell me what you know about this", he slid a picture of the shooter's weapon, "and if you give me som'in useful I can negotiate with the judge." Nodding, JJ peered down at the picture. "Yeah, it was Sug's, but he sold it to some kid, some messenger boy who needed to protect himself on his route. Don't blame him, man, we set up in a _crappy_ block." Lindsay chimed in. "If you saw him, again could you identify him?" "I dunno, maybe." Settling back into his seat and sucking his teeth, he watched with some trepidation as they began filling out the reduction forms.

As Jey huddled in a corner of the alleyway, he heard approaching footsteps. Terrified, he made himself as small as possible as a police Alsatian sniffed around at his feet. When the handler walked off without a word, he felt he was safe to uncurl. Taking a hoodie from his bag, he pulled it on before heading off down the alleyway to search for food.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Very early the next morning, as he boxed up the evidence and secured the lab, Sheldon considered stopping at home to rest, but decided to get down to the business of checking up on what he assumed would be a very uncooperative Don Flack. Turning to head down the stairs, he found himself face to face with an equally tired Adam. "So I finished doing a deeper analysis of the oil you found on Jimmy Lasseti's cuff. It's bike chain oil, but it's mixed with a different kind of oil: it's a conditioner for ash wood." "Like a baseball bat?" "Exactly. I'm thinking that your perp might be a cyclist who plays baseball and really takes care of his bat..." "Thanks, Adam. Were you able to narrow down a manufacturer?" "Nope, sorry. But the chromatograph of the other stuff you found in the bike oil does match pollutants found in these concentrations in Co-Op City, specifically on the Henderson Parkway." Nodding to Adam and clapping him on the shoulder, Sheldon jogged off to get to the hospital, calling Danny and Lindsay to let them know that when their shift started their destination was a door-to-door in the Bronx.

On his morning round, Dr Chang finished examining Mac's wound, announcing that he was fit to go home (with help), before turning to his other patient. To his delight, he was sitting flipping through the hockey pages, stopping to complete a half-done cryptic crossword and wolf down a bowl of strawberry Jell-O. He looked up, alert for the first time in the three days since he had woken, and answered all of his questions with aplomb. "Okay, well, with appropriate supervision-Sheldon might be a good choice-I'd say you'll be ready to go home this time tomorrow, and that your tube can come out as early as lunchtime today." Don smiled, his cheeks dimpling, and asked what he'd been itching to know all day. "When can I get back to work?" "As long as _both_ Sheldon and I declare you fit and able to carry your service weapon, you should be able to return to light investigative duties within 48 hours."

"My ears are burning...if you're telling them stories from college I might stop speaking to you, man! Hey Mac, Don. I've got news. We've managed to narrow down a job and a vague location for our suspect from the trace we found on the vic's shirt. He's probably a bike messenger who plays baseball and lives in a high-rise in the Henderson Way area of Co-Op City. Danny and Lindsay will start canvassing tomorrow. How are you both doing?" Mac simply nodded and shrugged, indicating the packed bag waiting for him at the end of the bed. Don piped up that he was going home tomorrow, and Lee turned back to him. "You okay with doing a couple days of babysitting while he goes back on light duties?" "So basically, 'take your medication', 'eat right', 'sleep right' and 'don't do too much', right?" "Yep." "You comfortable with that, Don?" "Yeah, but I'm not promising any kind of change in disposition, okay?" Sheldon nodded, taking the proffered notes from Lee's outstretched hand and scanning them before signing over as Don' primary medical advisor from 10 a.m. the following day.

In the Asch Loop of Co-Op City, Rosita Hernandez dropped the brown bags on the counter and set down her weekend bag. After a weekend with her sister's loving but demanding brood in Albany and the overstuffed work schedule of a senior RN, all she wanted to do was put her groceries away and sink into a long, hot bath. A stack of papers on the side table caught her eye. Bending down to pick them up, she smiled and clucked her tongue. Evidently her son had come up with another friend whom he wanted to stay with for a sleepover. She noted with approval that he'd left the house tidy-even his bedroom was...not tidy, she realised, but bare. His Bible, his baseball cards, his warm hooded coat and his new sneakers had all disappeared, as had his advanced calculus textbook and all his notebooks and pens. With a growing sense of unease, she took a closer look at her son's writing, and sank to the floor on her knees, her hand pressed to her mouth, as she read on. Forcing herself to stand, she strode through the kitchen, stuffing the bags into the refrigerator and setting out to find her boy. She paused only to finger Jeyman's bike, abandoned in the open stairwell as he'd run.

On her way out of the building, she was stopped by a young, confident couple who flashed NYPD badges before the girl spoke. "Ma'am, I'm Detective Monroe, and this is Detective Messer. We're here investigating the attempted murder of a police officer; you wouldn't happen to know a young man, short dark hair, kind eyes, loves baseball?" "We know he works as a bike messenger also." Taking a deep, cleansing breath, Rosita began to speak.

"I think I can help you there."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Closing the door quietly behind them, Danny and Lindsay stepped into the sitting room of the small apartment. "Please, sit down." Perching on the couch, they watched intently as Rosita picked up a picture from the coffee table. "This is my son, Jeyman. He's in junior high, loves the Yankees. He got a job a little while ago, as a courier. I can't really put by that much, so he's saving up for when he wants to go to college...he came home one night and panicked when I tried to take his jacket. He'd bought a gun for protection- You have to understand, he's a good boy, smart, and polite. I raised him well..."

"Ms. Hernandez, do you have any idea why your son might have done this, assuming that confession is real?" Danny noticed that the woman hesitated, glancing around before she answered. "I had been getting letters...phonecalls from a man claiming he was Jeyman's father. I made a mistake, had a one-night fling. I never saw him again...he basically said that he was about to make a really big deal, become someone in the public eye, and if I kept quiet then I could have as much money as I wanted. I was supposed to meet him in an alleyway near Central Park: Jey went instead of me. He wanted to ask him why he never called." At this, a sob rose from her throat. Lindsay looked at her with sympathy, placing a hand on her wrist. "He had threatened to kill himself if it ever got out that he had a son-in the letters, you know-he said he couldn't lose his family or his money. Jey didn't know who he was, so he took the gun with him for protection. When he got to the place, he saw the man's body on the ground...he was frightened, so he hid. Jeyman's very shy...When your policeman shouted at him to stop, he must have thought it was whoever had killed his father, so he-" "So he used the gun." She nodded, handing over the written confession. "If I knew where he was I would tell you. I don't care if you need to put him in jail. I just want my son back."

In an alleyway somewhere uptown, Jey's teeth were chattering. It was chillier than he'd anticipated, and he hugged his arms around his knees, shrinking further into the shady corner of the dumpster. He hadn't reckoned on spending this long waiting to meet Detective Flack, but he supposed a little more reconnaissance was needed before he showed himself.

In a small apartment in Queens, Sheldon Hawkes was making a swift and unobtrusive check on his patient. Flack was slumped on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, flicking through the sports news. "Flack." His head turned as his eyebrow quirked in question. "You need to take your meds, and we probably need something to eat, too." "Not sure I got anything in, Doc, but be my guest." Rootling around in the cupboards and freezer, Sheldon came across a package of spaghetti and some homemade marinara sauce, neatly frozen in a Tupperware box. "This edible?" "Should be, I only made it two weeks ago." Nodding, he set the pasta on the stove to boil, handing over a vitamin, an aspirin and an anti-emetic. Swallowing them dry, Don stood up and padded over to the airing cupboard, pulling out a set of bedclothes; Sheldon had insisted that he sleep on the couch while Flack, after nearly a week in the hospital, enjoyed the comfort of his own bed.

"Y'know," Sheldon whispered conspiratorially, "Lee told me that you might be able to go back to desk duty tomorrow, if you feel up to it." The wide grin that split Flack's face as he picked up his plate was all he needed to see before they both tucked in.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Sliding into the driver's seat of the Avalanche with bags of evidence piled neatly on the back seat, Danny glanced over at Lindsay. Her expression was soft and sad, and she sighed lightly as he pulled her close. "If what the boy said is true, then what happened to Mac is an accident, but he'll probably still go to jail." "Do you think it was an accident?" "There's nothing to indicate that he would shoot a cop on purpose. Straight-A student, valedictorian, peer mentor, charity volunteer..." "Would-be cop killer? Yer right, it doesn' add up. Whaddya say we go circulate this picture round the unis?" Pushing the car into gear, Lindsay pulled out into the traffic as Danny peered thoughtfully at the photograph in his hands.

As Stella dumped two holdalls unceremoniously inside the door, Mac was easing himself on to the couch. Turning into the kitchen, she packed away the groceries and spun on her heel to offer him a cup of coffee. She stifled a laugh as a soft snore emanated from behind the cushion, busying herself with a pot of soup. Stirring absent-mindedly, she felt she could finally allow herself to process the events of the past two weeks. First, her best friend had nearly died, and she still hadn't quite come to terms with that yet. Then, one of her oldest friends had ended up being rushed into hospital, setting up another anxious wait. The very idea that Flack-_Flack!_-had been weakened enough to need a feeding tube and three orderlies to lift him out of bed (if only for a few days) was almost more than she could bear. She became aware that she was crying into her pot. Turning away, she pushed her fingertips against her eyes, flicking away the tears and picking the spoon back up. Stirring the chowder methodically, she turned her head as Mac stirred. He padded over to stand behind her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. As she turned to face him, his lips brushed against her cheek and the friends hugged tightly. As Mac slowly pulled bowls out of the cupboard and a loaf of bread from the grocery bag, Stella smiled softly to herself, ladling out the soup then settling at the breakfast bar. They ate in companionable silence before Mac turned to go to bed, capitulating when she insisted that _she _would sleep on the couch.

The next morning, Sheldon was awoken by the sound of a frying pan being set upon the countertop. As he finished pulling on his jeans, he could see that Don was standing in a neatly pressed suit, whisking eggs together for an omelette. "First off," he smirked as Flack jumped and scowled, "where'd you get the eggs?" "There's a bodega just down the street; I felt okay so I decided to go get some groceries...does that count's a duty you signed off on yet?" "Hmm, probably. You taken your meds today?" "Yep. I took the first dose just before you got up, see?" Flack pointed to the empty box; to save him from grumbling, Laurel had measured out Don's pills into four-hourly doses, with a top-up painkiller if needed: apparently she knew him too well. "Second question: how you feeling? C'mere, I need to check a few things." Sighing and turning the heat down on the pan, Flack followed Sheldon into the living room; checking his pupils, his co-ordination and his blood sugar, Hawkes nodded. "You seem good to go. How's about we head out after breakfast, I drive you to the precinct and I come and check in with you at lunchtime? You're only on for a half day anyway..." Flack smiled, happy to be going back to work at all.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

In the diner across from the 74th, Jey sank into the vinyl cushions, savouring the warmth and his pancakes-his favourite. Watching intently, he stiffened as he noticed a silver sedan rolling to a graceful stop. A young man, dressed smartly in a striped brown shirt and tie, jumped out of the car on the driver's side, giving someone else a quick look over before stepping aside. As he stood, he turned towards the diner window. Apparently Detective Flack was back at work. It was time to pay him a visit.

In the bullpen, Sythe beckoned Don into his office. "Feeling alright?" "Fine, thank you sir. Still a little tired, but cleared for desk duty and interrogations." "Good. Here's what we know; a young man was supposed to meet Jimmy Lasetti because his mother had received mail and phonecalls from him stating that he was this boy's father. He stated that he would give them as much money as they wanted as long as they kept quiet; according to this written confession, and the evidence, Lasetti was already dead when the boy got there. He thought that Taylor was the man who had killed him, so he used his gun." "So this Jey Hernandez shot Mac because he was scared?" "Looks that way. There's nothing to suggest he intended to harm anyone." Wrinkling his brow, Flack nodded, standing up and heading for his desk. "There he is. That's the guy you're lookin' for. Hey, Flack!" "Yeah Scagnetti?" "This kid was lookin' for ya."

"Detective Flack? I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but my name is Jeyman Hernandez, and I would like to confess to the shooting of Detective Taylor. I assume my mother's spoken to you?" "She has. You know what I need to do, don't ya?" Nodding, Jey turned around. "Nah, I'm not gonna handcuff you. Why don't ya sit down. Tell me what you did and why, explain this confession, and I'll call your mother and tell her you're safe."

"Mrs Hernandez? My name is Detective Don Flack, with the Homicide Department. Yes, Jeyman came in a couple minutes ago to turn himself in. He's safe, though he looks a li'l cold and hungry. I don't want to start formal questioning until you get here, but do you mind if I get him to explain this confession to me? Okay, thank-you for your time. I'll send a car round to you right away...She wants to speak to you, kid." Taking the receiver from Flack, Jey braced himself. "Jeyman! Oh, thank God you're alright! I thought you'd done something terrible to yourself!" "I'm sorry, Mom. I-I'll understand if you don't wanna talk to me any more..." For the first time since he'd walked through that door, Don could actually see the fifteen year-old in Jey Hernandez, as his face crumpled and he began to sob. Putting the phone down, Flack sighed. "You got yourself in a mess, but it ain't unfixable, arite? "I'm so sorry! I never meant to hurt anyone, I-I was just so scared, you know, man? He was just all bloody, and I didn't know what happened, so I figured someone must have robbed him or som'in. Can you tell me what happened?" Squaring his shoulders, he looked down at the fifteen year-old kid, scrunched in the seat in front of him. "He killed him_self_. Apparently he just couldn't handle seeing the young man he left behind." Stricken, Jey looked around wildly, turning just as his mother came in through the door. Hugging him, she took a seat next to him, saying a tearful thank you to Flack.

Across town, in Mac's apartment, Lindsay's phone rang. Answering it in the hallway, she came back in to sit across from Mac. "That was Flack-" "He's back at work already? Stella asked incredulously." "Apparently. Jey Hernandez, the boy who shot you, just turned himself in at Flack's desk. His mother's with him. His story seems to check out, he doesn't fit the profile of a shooter..." "Looks like I'll need to talk to him." Knowing that there was no use in trying to persuade Mac to stay and rest, Danny spoke up with a sigh.

"I'll get the car."


End file.
